Understand my mind.

Since I was 5 I did all kind of sports: gymnastics, tae kwon do, swimming, basketball, tennis, cycling, triathlon and so on… Don’t get me wrong I loved each and every one of it, I am a black belt (so don’t mess with me hahaha).

But my one true love was having a bike, getting mud all over me, feeling the wind in my face. Yes, I’m talking about mountain bike. This addiction started when I was 5 years old, I’m pretty sure I learned how to ride a bike before I learned how to walk. As I grew older, my addiction became stronger, at the age of 14 my dad forced me to enter to my first mountain bike race, yes he forced me, a day before I was crying like a spoiled 4 year old.

That was the best decision he could ever made, I got first place. But that wasn’t all, there was a coach in that race, he asked me to join the cycling team, two months later I went to my first track nationals. I wasn’t that good but hey I was 14 years old.

Don’t laugh at my really really old track bike hahaha

In the cycling team I met my best friend -who is now my boyfriend- but we’ll get to that later (probably not today)

Then I turned 15, it was MY year… apparently it wasn’t. A month before nationals, a guy decided to enter to the veldorome – with no experience whatsoever- and he was responsible of my accident. I ended with 40 stitches in my chin and a missing tooth.

So I made a decision that I still regret, I left the team. I needed to be off trainings for a month, plus I developed some certain fear to track. I started running more like a hobby than a lifestyle, it was good, but it wasn’t good enough.

Four years later my boyfriend dragged me into triathlons. It’s kind of funny because when I was younger (I still am hahaha) my dad told me that someday I was going to be able to complete an Ironman, I wasn’t so sure about it. So, here I am, a 23 year old 70.3 Ironman finisher.